A Night at the Opera
by twisted-coil
Summary: A threeact 'one shot'...is that a contradiction in terms? C and J, at the opera, postRupert...might they find each other?
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is effectively a 'one-shot', but it is in three parts… I'll be posting them quickly, so don't worry! Please let me know what you think ;o)

ACT ONE

As the resonating hum of the orchestra tuning up spread out over the filling opera house, Queen Clarisse Renaldi was ushered discreetly into a private box. It was not her first visit to London, indeed, as a child she had spent most of her school years in the city, but it was the first time she had ever been able to attend the opera at Covent Garden. Dressed conservatively in a black trouser suit, the only clue to her identity was to be found on the distinctive state ring she wore on her wedding finger. She had wanted to spend this evening quietly, to simply enjoy the performance as everybody else would, free from unsolicited attention and most definitely free from the polite, but dull conversation that public appearances tended to entail.

Of course, though, she was not alone. Joseph would hardly have allowed her to slip into the stalls by herself. Indeed, it had been at his insistence that she had taken a private box. Without doubt, he was right in his suggestion. It would have been both foolhardy and a security nightmare had she pursued her original plan just to merge into the background. Sometimes though she forgot such things, just for a moment and, she thought with a smile, more often than not, he indulged her.

Pulling back the chair, ever so slightly, allowing her to sit, and then stepping to the side, Joseph scanned the auditorium. Still three minutes until curtain up, and the place was already packed. He glanced back at Clarisse and smiled as she lost herself in the programme. Satisfied that all was in order, he stepped back, leaving her to her diversion, quite content to settle himself at the rear of the box.

As the lights began to dim, and silence spread out across the auditorium, Clarisse realised that he had gone. Setting her programme carefully on the stand, she turned, the light just faint enough to make out his silhouette in the corner behind her. The house lights now extinguished, applause rang out as the conductor stepped out onto the platform.

"Joseph…"

He looked up, startled by her hushed, yet insistent tone. Rising immediately, he moved to her side, crouching a little so they could whisper.

"Yes, Clarisse, is there something the matter?"

She smiled, the soft exhale of breath that marked her amusement caressing his cheek. She patted the seat next to her.

"Yes, I'm afraid there is, opera's not nearly so much fun with no one to whisper to…sit with me?"

His reply was lost in the opening lines of the overture, and she caught only his discreet nod in the dim light. Silently though, he manoeuvred himself to her side, and came to sit in the plush velvet seat. The curtain lifted slowly, teasingly slowly, she thought with a smile, and for a moment she was caught up by the anticipation. He smiled, watching the enchantment on her face as the magical stage set was revealed. Just like a child. She relaxed a little, and lent back into her seat, turning to look at him as she did so. He was smiling, and she could have sworn that he winked at her. She smiled back, resisting the urge to kiss his cheek, and contented herself with an answering nod and a whispered "thank you".


	2. Chapter 2

As the overture ended and the cast began to spill onto the stage, Joseph slipped off his jacket and draped it carefully over the empty seat to his left. Clarisse seemed oblivious to the warmth, her hands curled delicately in her lap, unconsciously caressing the smooth fabric of her jacket. He smiled, forcing his eyes back onto the stage, his mind back into the performance. Leaning forward a little, he placed his elbows gingerly on the velvet trimmed edge of the box, and brought his head to rest on his hands. As much as he enjoyed the theatre and the opera he wasn't sure that three and a half hours of sitting here would be particularly conducive to relaxation.

He need not have worried, though, and as the first act unfolded he began to lose himself in the thread of the plot. The story itself was a simple one, Rigoletto, the comic hunchback had a beautiful daughter, Gilda. Not wanting to lose her to anyone, he kept her hidden, most especially from the licentious Duke, his patron. The arias between the father and daughter were stunning, painfully honest and musically very intricate. The auditorium was stunned into hushed silence as the soprano's voice wafted up to the rafters, and Joseph felt tears begin to prick his eyes.

Clarisse was simply spellbound, forgetting for a moment who she was and all that that entailed. This was why she loved the theatre so much, it was the illusion. The fantasy that everything might fall into place and be impossibly perfect.

The scene over, the set began to move. Joseph shifted a little beside her, coming to sit back again in his seat, and she tilted her head to quietly whisper,

"Happy?"

He seemed to wait a moment before replying, perhaps a little confused by her sudden question, but then smiled warmly.

"It's wonderful – I…"

The music began to swell as the Duke entered from the right, his identity clear to all except the young girl, Gilda. As their romantic exchange began, its folly apparent to all but the innocent girl, Clarisse felt herself drifting once again. She found it hard to believe that love could be so immediate, so intensely present from a single encounter. Leaning forward to stretch her back a little, she joined Joseph in resting her elbows on the edge of the box. As the notes floated high above them, he wondered if she realised what her proximity did to him. Again he stole a glance and was pleased to see her attention thoroughly occupied by the drama.

The gradual brightening of the house lights signalled the start of the first interval. Pleased to remember that she had pre-ordered some champagne to be brought to her box, Clarisse turned her attention to Joseph. Now free to chatter, he smiled as she babbled away, talking about the costumes, raving about the presence of Rigoletto on stage, of the soprano's amazing tone. Trying not to look smug, he basked in her obvious and unashamed enthusiasm.

"And the orchestra, Joseph, the orchestra… simply stunning…."

"Indeed"

She paused as the waiter poured first her glass and then, without even a moment's hesitation Joseph's. He nodded politely, but as soon as the waiter had left, he set the glass back down carefully on the tray. For a moment Clarisse said nothing, understanding immediately his restraint. An awkward pause followed, as she sipped her own glass,

"Not whilst on duty?"

He smiled discreetly, raising his eyebrows as he did so,

"Exactly…and anyway, I've a couple of bottles on ice for when I get home…much better than the fare served up here…"

She sniggered, nearly spilling champagne over him, and set the glass down carefully.

"So what do you think of the performance so far?"

As he paused to consider his response, Clarisse couldn't help but notice how his eyes narrowed a little when he thought about something,

"I think it's very well done – and the acting is superb"

She nodded her approval, and twisted a little on her seat to face him better.

"I agree, though I have to admit I think they have a hard task…I mean, the plot, especially in that last scene, really is rather far-fetched, don't you think?"

Again, his eyes narrowed, and she felt compelled to look away, out over the auditorium. His rich voice, however, soon brought her back,

"Not at all…I think it's entirely plausible."

She was surprised, she couldn't deny it…Joseph had hardly seemed the type for flights of fantasy. Yes, she was happy to enjoy them, but only for what they were.

"Really? But don't you think that it is ridiculous that someone could fall in love like that, almost immediately, and so intensely?"

The lights began to dim again, and he took the champagne flute from her hand and set it carefully on the table behind him, ready for the waiter to collect. Turning back, he found her still looking at him, waiting for his answer. For a moment he looked out over the stage, down at the orchestra, his mind telling him to stop being so sentimental. The curtain was slowly beginning to rise, and the opening of the second act was drifting up to their ears. He twisted to look at her, his eyes finding hers with surprising ease considering the imposed darkness. When he spoke, his voice was hardly more than a whisper, so faint that had she not been waiting to hear him, his words would have floated away,

"It is not ridiculous, Clarisse. Far from it. Even after a single glance."


	3. Chapter 3

She looked away, defensively, automatically. As her eyes came to rest on the stage, she realised that she couldn't pretend not to have heard, and so nodded discreetly. To herself, or to Joseph she couldn't be sure. He was still looking at her, she could feel it, that familiar warmth of his attention caressing her cheek. Gingerly, she sat back in her seat, straightening her back, squaring her shoulders. He smiled at her movement, entirely aware of what she was trying to do. As he began to turn his attention back to the stage, she looked at him, and their eyes met.

She looked on edge, and he smiled cautiously, his fingers nervously caressing the velvet trim of the armrest. They both looked away the instant their eyes met, both focusing on the action on the stage. The music swelled, as Rigoletto's aria became more emotional, his voice soaring out over the auditorium. Clarisse swallowed, oblivious almost to the scene unfolding in front of her, far more caught up in her own drama. Could he have meant it? The look in his eyes had told her everything.

Joseph felt his fingers curling over the edge of the box, gripping the soft material as he fought with his emotions. He had known this evening would be difficult, just like it was always difficult…but he had always managed before. He could manage it again. He took a deep breath.

As the music grew soft and pensive, she heard the rough sound of his breath, her eyes catching the movement of his fingers on the hand rest. He whispered something, and she bent her head a little, not quite hearing him, still not looking at him.

He closed his eyes, again willing the strength to come,

"I'm sorry Clarisse, I shouldn't have said that…it was…"

He faltered, unsure of what it was, what he should say it was. She turned a little, her face now dangerously close to his, and looked at him in the gloomy light. His face was tense, his eyes half closed, seemingly with concentration. For a moment she was surprised, and wondered if he might be ill.

"…it was ill-timed and inappropriate."

As he finished, his expression still so serious and drawn, she felt that same longing as before, to slide her fingers down the nape of his neck and to press her lips to his cheek. But whereas that thought had before seemed so crazy and so concerning, now she found herself simply smiling. He looked utterly confused, but she decided that he wouldn't require long to figure it out. Taking a rather shaky breath she smiled again, her eyes lingering on his for a moment longer than might be considered polite. The air conditioning had finally begun to work its magic, and she shivered a little at the cool breeze. Twisting back to lean against the rail and look out over the people below, she laid her head on her now folded arms.

He sat there for a long while, just looking at the curve of her back, the gentle rise and fall as she breathed. Still she hadn't answered him, acknowledged his apology even. It was almost as if she didn't want to, didn't need to. He sighed deeply, surely this couldn't mean what he hoped? No. Of course not.

But the way she had looked at him. He was sure that she had understood. How could she not have? She shivered again, and for a moment he was broken from his dreaming. Reaching over to pick up his carefully folded jacket, he tapped her gently on the upper arm,

"Would you like my jacket?"

She smiled, her head still lying comfortably on her arms, and he made out a small nod in the darkness. Carefully, he draped the jacket around her, anxious not to crease her own clothes as he did so. As he pulled it up around her shoulders, he felt the gentle touch of her finger against the side of his hand. His intake of breath was audible, and she pulled the jacket around her. Smoothing his hand along the curve of her back, moving to sit back in his seat, he felt her shiver once again. Genuinely concerned, he bent down again, and whispered softly,

"Clarisse, are you alright? Shall I ask for something hot to drink?"

Her heart warming already at the obvious concern in his voice, she turned a little and looked at him. His arm was still draped casually across her back and was unconsciously smoothing comforting circles through the heavy jacket. Again their eyes met, and this time he saw it for sure. She smiled shyly, slowing lifting her head and coming to sit upright. As she did so, the jacket slid down her shoulders, and he moved to replace it,

"No…don't"

No longer did he look confused, only cautious, as if unsure. She turned to face him properly, and met his eyes. His arm still held her, and she slid a little closer. As the music washed over them and the lights from the stage flickered and flashed, he reached out and placed his other hand on her shoulder. Still she held his gaze, not quite believing that it was happening, not like this. He attempted a smile then too, and she felt her throat tighten at his nervousness. Reaching out, she placed her cool hand on his cheek, gently tracing the outline of his beard, her thumb coming to rest just below his lips.

"Joseph…"

He smiled properly now, and closing his eyes, tenderly pressed a kiss to her forehead. Her hands slid round his neck, and he felt her warm breath against his cheek. As his arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her to rest against him, he realised that she was shaking as much as he was. After a moment or two, he pulled back slowly, and looked at her again, his heart fluttering a little at the thought of her in his arms.

"Clarisse?"

"Yes, my darling?"

He smiled, his question already answered.

Titling her chin a little, he dropped a gentle kiss to her cheek, then her nose, his lips then finding hers in the dark, caressing her teasingly at first, then ceding to a desire far too long suppressed. As they eased apart, her fingers found his and she lay against him slightly, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

A slight movement at the rear of the box made her jump a little. It was the waiter, returning to collect their glasses. As he realised who it was, she felt Joseph begin to ease away, but she pulled him back, looping his arm around her,

"But Clarisse…."

She smiled, looking at him seriously, finally pressing the longed-for kiss to his cheek.

"No. I won't let you go now. Not ever."

He grinned, but understood well the seriousness of her decision,

"Really?"

"Really."

Again he smiled, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head ruefully,

"Oh dear…looks like I'm done for then…"

"You'd better believe it."


End file.
